Gemotions

The chipped mug of tea sat untouched on the table, the steam long dissipated. The apartment was cold, the silence broken only by the incessant tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Sarah pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, the threadbare wool doing little to ward off the chill. Another birthday, another reminder of the years that had passed, years she felt she had wasted. She reached for the book, “Little Women,” a desperate attempt to find a connection, a resonance.

She opened the book at random, and a pressed flower drifted onto the table. Attached to the flower was a small piece of paper. The handwriting was delicate, the message poignant, a whisper from the past. A single tear traced a path down her cheek.